


Shall we dance

by Anonymous



Category: Jeepers Creepers (2001)
Genre: M/M, Magical Healing Cock, Post-Canon, Rape/Non-con Elements, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:19:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25006813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The creatures wants more than dancing from Darry.
Relationships: Creeper/Darry Jenner
Comments: 10
Kudos: 57
Collections: Anonymous, Nonconathon 2020





	Shall we dance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MiriamKenneath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiriamKenneath/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy!

There's music, the tinny whistle of Jeepers Creepers, playing along inside Darry's head. He can't tell if it's real or not, or if Trish's screams are a genuine part of the soundtrack. Perhaps it's a remix, he thinks, already fading out a little, the wounds on his neck leaking blood. He can feel the ceaseless drip of it down his neck, like water down a drainpipe during a hosepipe ban, every drop of it precious. He wishes vaguely that the council had instituted a local ordinance regarding this particular waste of blood. If he'd considered flying, it wouldn't have been like this, embraced in leathery wings, the foul pant of something inhuman against his neck. This is not Virgin Airlines, he tells himself, he's had sex multiple times before. For a given value of multiple times, something his math teacher had never covered. He laughs a little to himself, the blood loss making him slightly delirious.

When he's dumped on the floor, every bone in his body jolts with pain, his big toes twitching to the gramophone's rhythm. He's staring out of slitted eyes now, hazy and forlorn, as the creature, whatever it is, moves around in front of him. He can't tell what it's doing, maybe dancing to the music, maybe collecting a sharper knife to separate him from his essential organs. He spares a moment to thank the universe it isn't Trish here. She's never been shy about expressing her opinion on poor song choice and he doesn't think that would go down well with whatever this thing is. There's no copy of Rolling Stone that he can see from his admittedly limited vantage point.

It's almost a relief when the creature sits down beside him and extends a hideous clawed finger and drags it down his face. "Hi," it whispers, and the word sounds wrong from a borrowed tongue. "You want to dance?"

He knew from the first time the thing touched him that no wasn't an option. So he lies there mute as the thing insinuates an arm around him, web adorned fingers surprisingly strong as it drags him upright. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it had balanced his feet on its own and moved them around like that, but it didn’t thankfully. Instead, it just dragged me him around by the upper arms.

“You’re very good for me Darius,” it mused, somewhere over his head. “If not a good dancer.”

“Darry,” he gasped out, and somewhere found the strength to bite down hard on the creature’s chest, mouth rebelling at having to taste its flesh.

The slap tells him it’s been felt, he rolls away, a little bit pleased, a little bit hopeful that this means he might soon die. He feels like his mind should be crowded with plans to escape, but they’ve been crowded out by plans to die. On the ride over, the erection, presumably stolen from another previous well endowed victim had been menacingly pressed up against his back. Better dead than subject to the foul lusts of the local county urban legend.

“Fool,” it muttered. “You could have earned less pain.”

Darry doesn’t spare it an answer. He’s never had a part time job and he’s not about to start now.

The creature looms over him and has begun to strip. Every inch revealed is another horror, lizard like green skin – the Grinch with a double sized dick – Darry thinks, dizzy once again. He’s not sure if he’s ever seen anything like this. There’s more spikes on the Jeepers’s dick than he can count, and his asshole shudders at the thought. This can’t be happening, some of him is still wildly thinking. He’s going to wake up, he’s going to be in bed or sitting next to Trish in the car.

The creature looms over him, blocks out the scanty light of the room, one hideous hand pumping itself to full hardness. “Open up,” it says, and it sounds even less human now.

He doesn’t have any choice but to open, and the creatures uses his throat like a flesh tunnel, a short brisk pumping motion that results in jizz of an indeterminate color flooding down his throat. The results are worse than he thought it could be. He can feel the jizz running through his veins, feels his arm snap back into place, the wounds in his neck heal over, until he’s ready and complete for the monster to use again.

He lies on the floor, feeling himself revitalized and opens his mouth in a wordless howl now that it is empty.

“Good,” the monster says, almost fondly and flips him over onto his front, shouldering his legs apart with scaly knees. Darry sprawls, unable to fight it, feels the monster push at his hole. If it’s wet at all, it’s from stolen precum, an even worse thought so he tries not to think about it.

Big isn’t the word really. Nor is large. Or extensive or even too big. He’s run out of words to describe it, the way that it pushes inside himself, every spike scraping along the way, the curious way it wriggles inside him, like the monsters dick has a life of its own. He wonders if it has its own name, maybe that of its previous owner, anything to distract himself from the way it squirms inside him, and thrusts into him and then pulls back. The spikes catch at him, every bit of it wordless pain and he instinctively squirms away.

“Feel the burn,” the creature says. “Savor it like your finest meal.”

Darry isn’t sure, even through the pain if a KFC bucket with extra mashed potato is what the beast had meant. 

“You have to get used to it,” the creature whispers. “This is what eternity feels like. If you please me, I will keep you.”

It’s still fucking him, harder now, swift jerk of its hips against his ass, ripping him upside until he imagines it is blood slicking the way. He’s hiding away from the thought, from the remembrance of how just blowing the beast had fixed his injuries. If it can keep him here forever, that’s worse than any death. It’s still fucking him, hands tucked around his middle, pulling him backwards onto the creature’s cock, like he’s a too small glove on a too big hand.

He almost begs _finish this_ but holds his tongue because he’s not sure if out of spite it will fuck him longer. Another five thrusts later, precise and mechanical, he can feel it empty inside him. It burns like fire, and he catches a horrified breath as he realizes that the creatures jizz is healing the cuts it left inside him. Jeepers bends over him, wings opening and unfurling to cover them both, hips still juddering and Darry takes a second to realize that it is pissing inside him. He thought he’d protest but the only thing that leaves his mouth is a scream.

“We’re going to have a lot of fun,” Jeepers says thoughtfully. “I’m going to teach you how to dance.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments welcome


End file.
